


venus

by queendromeda



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Developing Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 14:41:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10573377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queendromeda/pseuds/queendromeda
Summary: even monsters deserve love, especially monsters who are actually boys.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I just felt like a tragedy.  
> warnings: allusions to war per canon, mild cursing.

"I could love you," she tells him one night, long after everyone had gone off to bed. It's just the two of them, and when it's just the two of them things are calmer, like a storm that tapers off into a drizzle. He wouldn't exactly call it peaceful, but whatever it is, it's comfortable. 

He pushes a strand of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear, "I'm tarnished."

She hums, "Isn't everybody?"

"I'm  _ especially  _ tarnished," he taps a finger against his forearm, where he's hiding his  _ ugly _ ,  _ gruesome _ ,  _ horrid  _ mark behind silk, "You should love somebody like Theo."

"I didn't say I did love you, I said I could," but there's a smile in her voice, "I could love you. And you could love me."

He laughs, it's not a happy sound but it's not entirely bitter either, "Death Eaters aren't capable of love. Just death and chaos and pain."

She leans against his shoulder, and he  _ hates _ that he takes comfort in the small act and  _ hates _ that he craves her warmth and  _ hateshateshates _ -, "Explain your father and mother then? Or Greg and Pansy? Or Theo's parents? Or-"

"Stop," he says, but it sounds more like a question than an order.

She sighs, "You think you're a monster, but even monsters can be loved. Even monsters deserve love, especially,  _ especially  _ monsters who are actually boys."

He wants to call her a liar. The words are dancing on the tip of his tongue, but he can't make himself say it. He can't cause her that pain, that devastation. 

It's quiet for a long moment.

He exhales and, to his horror, he shudders with the force of it.

She inhales and whispers, "I could love you," and she said it so softly it may not have been said at all.

The  _ I could _ rings in his ears for days.  _ IcouldIcouldIcouldIcouldIcouldIcould-  _

**xxx**

"I love you," she tells him frantically, arms thrown around his neck, lips close to his ear, and time around them slows down. 

He breaths once. 

Twice.

Three times and-

"I know," he says, hugging her back just as hard, "I know."

Sparks are literally in the air, and smoke burns the inside of his mouth-nose-throat, and somewhere around them someone is screaming in pain, probably a kid they grew up with, and it's all too much, too real, too quick. And his arm burns, and his mind his weighed down in guilt or anger or grief, maybe all three, he's not sure. And she's there. And she's  _ there _ .

She didn't leave him. 

"I love you," he says, pulling out of the hug, looking into her eyes (pale blue with huge pupils: scared out of her mind but  _ here _ ) and drinks in her face just in case.  _ Just in case _ . 

She laughs and repeats, "I love you," and it's absurd. The situation is absurd. They were in the middle of the rapture and exchanging silly little  _ I love you's _ and he wouldn't trade it for anything. He laughs too, manically, deranged, and he sounds a smidge too much like his aunt, but he doesn't care. He doesn't care. 

And then Greg's shouting at him.

And then the Dark Lord orders a ceasefire. 

And then Potter is dead.

And then, long after, he crumbles. 

**xxx**

"I can't love you," she tells him through sobs. 

Inside he screams  _ why why why _ , the beat of his heart all too present, and there's something raw and red bleeding in his throat, and his eyes sting cold and dry, and his teeth ache, and  _ nothing _ .

He doesn't collapse or cry, he nods. 

Wordless. 

_ Does this moment deserve words? _ He asks himself, blood moving slowly.

She swallows, wipes her eyes on the back of her hand, looking as tragic as any painting from the Renaissance, and tries again, "You're not mine to love. I can't love you. I have no right."

Something twists, snaps, falls off and he's desperate, "You have  _ every  _ right. Do you understand me? I won't let this happen. I'll stop it."

She shakes her head, "You can't. You  _ can't _ . You must marry Astoria."

"It's not fair.  _ It's not _ ," he closes his eyes, presses his head against hers.

"I know," and she pulls away, "God, I  _ hate  _ her." 

He breathes her in, bark and saffron and honey. He wonders, absently, if he'll ever be able to hold her again. 

She sounds defeated, "My own sister. My own  _ fucking  _ sister."


End file.
